


Isii Lavellan Drabbles

by geekyjez



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Gen, Headcanon, Shorts, tumblr asks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-03-04 15:42:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3073325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekyjez/pseuds/geekyjez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The highlights of my favorite short one-off drabbles (scenes, dialogue, etc.) pulled from various asks sent to me on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impression of Solas

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any similar questions you'd like to see in a drabble, be sure to send them my way at [geeky-jez.tumblr.com](geeky-jez.tumblr.com)

**What are Isii's first thoughts on Solas? Was it an immediate attraction or something that took over time?**

I feel very out of place here, trapped inside the shem’s Inquisition. Many of the people in Haven don’t know what to make of me, nor I them. Many are intimidated by my otherness, as if I am some savage Dalish who they expect to start skinning and eating their cats. Others fear speaking to me with awe in their eyes as they murmur Herald and bow their heads.

I’d rather them think me a savage.

Of all the people here, the dwarf speaks to me the most. His company is growing on me, though it is not what I expected. If you had asked me in my first week here who I would be sharing a drink with and swapping stories, I would have assumed it was Solas. I see now this assumption was based on little more than the belief that he and I would have more in common, both being elven. He certainly gives me no hints that we will ever be close. He is quiet. Far too quiet. At first I took it personally that he seemed to have little interest in speaking with me, though I see now that it is merely his way. He is standoffish. Observant and willing to help, but offers little more than a few words of advice when they are asked of him. Otherwise, he keeps to himself and merely watches.

I must admit, there are times when he rubs me the wrong way. He often speaks to me as if he is much older, so much wiser, has so much more experience than I have. But he can only be in his forties, at most. Barely that, in my estimation. I am merely a few years shy of him. I don’t know if he speaks to me like I am some student out of arrogance or if he simply is so deeply lacking in social skills that he doesn’t recognize the slight.

Still, it is a minor offense.

And yes… I suppose. If pressed, I will admit he is not displeasing to look at. But such questions are irrelevant, don’t you think?


	2. Rejected Submissions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric gets an interesting note concerning Isii (which is actually a prompt I received on tumblr).

_"Lavellan is kidnapped. Solas is part of the rescue party. Their expectations are grim, but they arrive to find that the inquisitor has inspired all of the bandits who kidnapped her by teaching them how to knit, and they are all knitting in a circle."_

Varric sat, his brow furrowing as he read over the note again.

_Knitting? Really?_

“Alright, who in the Void put this here?”

A series of blank expressions looked back at him, though he could hear a faint trickle of sniggering float down from the second floor of the tavern. He crumpled up the page and tossed it aside with a laugh.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have asked for suggestions on what to add to This Shit is Weird: The Inquisitor Lavellan Story.

(It was still a working title.)


	3. Good with Children?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Question: Are they better with children, animals, or neither?

Keeper Deshanna smiled warmly, her eyes narrowing on Isii. “A child in your arms. It is a good look for you, da’len.”

Isii laughed softly to cover her impatient sigh, shifting the fussing infant along the crook of her hip. “Do not get too attached to the image, Keeper. I am only looking after him until Dehari comes back.”

"You are good with the child. He soothes when you touch him." Isii tried not to grimace, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. This was a path they had walked down many times. "You should consider when you are going to have a child of your own, da’len."

The Keeper was worried that Isii was waiting too long. That she was getting too old, that she would let her youth slip away, along with her chances of motherhood. They were a dying people. Every elf must do their part to keep their race alive. “I wouldn’t trust myself with a dog, let alone a child.” She joked. A deflection. Not even a particularly good one. She could see the Keeper was not pleased. "When I find one to bond to, then perhaps."

"I have already begun to reach out to the Keepers of Sabrae and Alerion." Deshanna said with a nod. "We will find someone for you. Do not worry."

Isii was not worried. She didn’t want her Keeper playing matchmaker. It was not a lack of potential suitors that kept her from bonding with one of the men in her clan.

The baby whimpered and she lifted him higher, bouncing him absentmindedly against her chest. Being good with children and wanting a child were two different things. A child was something precious - which meant it was one more thing that would hurt to lose.

A lover, in that sense, was no different.


	4. The Queen and the Champion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If they met, how would your Inquisitor get along with your Warden? Your Hawke?

After all that time spent looking for her, Isii never thought she would meet the Queen of Ferelden; nor did she think it would take place at the palace in Denerim. The Warden-Commander, recently returned from what Isii assumed was a successful mission, requested a visit from the Herald of Andraste. Isii made time for the trip, eager to solidify their political ties to the throne. Being an organization founded in Orlais did not do them any favors in terms of their relationship with the Dog Lords. 

The meeting was brief, but Isii felt comfortable in Myra Theirin’s presence. The Queen was a kind woman; light-hearted, if not worn from hardship. Neither she nor her husband seemed particularly interested in formalities, which was a refreshing change from the Orlesians Isii often had to garner favor with. She could tell that they were both quite happy to be together once more. Even as Myra conducted their meeting with grace, it was impossible not to see the looks cast between them - the warm smiles, the small laughter after a shared whispered word. He kept his hand over hers at all times, as if to remind himself that she was still there. 

***

Hawke was not what Isii expected. From Varric’s story, she got the impression that Mariah Hawke was a lively sort: a sarcastic jokester with a heart of gold. The woman she met was quieter. Withdrawn. She appeared to get lost in her thoughts often.

Isii got the courage to ask her about it once, after both of them had consumed enough in Skyhold’s tavern to no longer worry about broaching uncomfortable topics.

“Do you ever regret it? Tying yourself to Anders like that?”

Hawke stared down into her drink, choosing her words carefully. “I can hate what he’s done, even if I understand his reasons. But I can never hate him. The stories always get him wrong. They cast him in the role they want him to be in. But I know the real Anders. I know the man underneath the surface everyone sees. Maybe it makes me a romantic sap, but I would do anything to stay with him.

“But it’s hard to love a man who keeps secrets from you. It’s hard to love a man who would sacrifice everything you have together for what he thinks is the greater good.”

She paused, finishing off her drink. “Feel lucky you’re not in my shoes. I would not wish that kind of love on anyone.”


	5. The Scent of Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What scent is she associated with?

There was comfort to be found in her scent. Even before it was appropriate for him to draw her close _(if it ever truly was appropriate, he thinks grimly)_ , he grew to recognize it as distinct. She smelled of warm skin, of honey and herbs. Even in the depths of winter, trapped in the Frostbacks, she somehow managed to smell like fresh greenery. The faint hint of worn leather lingered, even after she’d change out of her armor. Her hands always held traces of old dry wood from holding her staff- and of flowers. He was never certain when she was handling them, but he could smell them there, the sweet scent of spring whenever she touched his face.

He thinks of her scent often. Smell is not a sense that is captured well by the Fade. As he watches over her dreams, he wishes he could touch her one last time. To bury his face against her neck and breathe her in. If only for a moment. Just to help him remember.


	6. A Silly Game to Pass the Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If they were an animal, which would they be?

"Wouldn’t you go with a halla, or something like that?"

She frowned at Varric, cocking one eyebrow. “Could you come up with a more stereotypical answer for a Dalish?”

"I was under the impression the Dalish had some religious thing attached to the halla. I thought you’d be flattered, Stormy."

Her eyes narrowed. “Must you insist on giving me a nickname, dwarf?” 

He chuckled. “It’s kind of my thing.”

She let out a patient sigh, focusing on the pathway ahead of them. “I would not want to be a halla.” She said, shaking her head. “They are delicate and vulnerable. I’m a hunter. I’m not anyone’s prey.”

"A wolf then?"

"A lynx." The sound of Solas’s voice, as well as the surety of his tone, surprised her. She glanced back at him. He was a quiet elf. Rarely spoke. Yet he always appeared to be watching his surroundings carefully.

"You sound fairly certain of that." She replied, tilting her head.

"You said yourself that you are a hunter." He explained calmly. “They are not quite as big as a wolf, but they are skilled predators. Quiet. They stalk from cover until the opportunity is right. And they are agile climbers, as you are. Something a wolf lacks.”

She examined him quietly for a time. She noticed the briefest softening of his expression before it faded once again into a passive stare. “Is that explanation sufficient?” He asked.

“A lynx it is.” Varric said. “Good call, Chuckles.”


	7. Seasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What season reflects her personality best?

Before the Conclave, she is the chill of winter with the promise of spring; small buds and blades of green trying desperately to soften the choke of lingering snow. Even under the yoke of the burden placed on her by the anchor, even with the threat of the world coming to an end, the Inquisition changes her. It warms her. The frost melts away and spring can finally flourish, renewed.


	8. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does Isii have a family?

"Her skin was darker than yours. Mythal’s blessing on her face. Her hands were warm as they touched your hair. She always smelled of warm food and wood smoke. He was tall. Shining. A man made of laughter. He would toss you over his shoulder. Squealing. Spinning. Sent you sailing to the ground until you jumped on him again. They never did give you the brother they promised."

Isii kept her eyes downcast, staring deeply into the core of their campfire, the light playing over her stilled features. ”Those are private thoughts, Cole.” She murmured. “Please don’t bring them up again.”

"They loved you."

She closed her eyes, nodding. “I know.”


	9. Hobbies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does she have any hobbies?

It is childish. Silly. She does it only when no one is looking – when she can sneak away on the pretense of gathering herbs. But in those moments, quiet as they are, sitting in the Hinterlands or in the lush valleys of Orlais, she carefully selects her materials. Fresh, small blossoms. Flexible young branches, still green when pierced. She weaves them together into circlets like the ones she wore when she was a little girl. It is something to keep her hands busy. A task that lets her think. They remind her of a time when life was simpler. She always leaves them behind, hanging them on a nearby tree or placing them delicately on a stone. She takes a little comfort thinking that someone else might stumble upon them and enjoy them for a time.


	10. Forces of Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Isii were a force of nature, what would she be?

Isii is a thunderstorm.

Observers can see the power she holds as she drifts past, low and rumbling, quietly building. Those who would have reason to fear her are thankful when the storm passes without an incident. They are left merely aware that a powerful presence has moved by. 

But then, the circumstances align in just the right way and she unleashes her fury. Sharp crashes of lightning scream silently through the air, striking their mark even before the roar of thunder is able to warn her enemies into taking shelter. She is ungovernable, unstoppable. She does not flinch or stray from her course until all that has threatened her and the things she holds dear have been struck from the surface of Thedas.


	11. Orderly Disorder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is Isii neat and organized?

She barely even uses her desk. 

So how did it come to be covered in things?

Notes from Josephine from dignitaries she never intends to respond to.

Briefs from Cullen that have doodles in the margin. They are not idle markings. She uses them in an attempt to map out the troop movements in her head as he describes them on paper.

A page from Solas - notes written in a careful script of his visions of Arlathan— things she has asked him to write down for her so she may be able to envision it the way the Fade showed it to him. The page is well-worn from her fingertips idly picking at the corners while she reads.

Books. So many books. Books she keeps intending to read but always feels too exhausted in those brief moments when she has time to herself.

All of these things are scattered like little remnants of her life. The servants who are assigned as her attendants have worked to clean it up, but she has shooed them away enough times that they have stopped trying. If she wanted them placed in any other fashion, she would do it herself. She does not want anyone to have to do it for her.


	12. Isii's Tavern Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If Isii had a tavern song, how do you think it would go and what would it be about? (would it be slow ,upbeat,.. etc)"  
> [Now with audio of me singing it, as requested on tumblr.](http://geeky-jez.tumblr.com/post/109646979658/well-if-you-insist-anon-super-quick-not-warmed)

Upbeat. _  
_

_***_

_Isii, Inquisitor_  
 _As fearsome as she’s free_  
 _Not the Chosen, she decrees_  
 _Just one who fights like you or me_

_The Herald, we all praise_  
 _Will tell all far and wide_  
 _Andraste’s not her only guide_  
 _Creator’s faith is by her side._

_A Dalish elf you see_  
 _Who will not bend or kneel_  
 _While hunting rifts for her to seal_  
 _The Dread Wolf’s nipping at her heels._

_She’ll face him without fear_  
 _And whatever comes her way_  
 _Her magic’s arcing light’s display_  
 _Will send him howling on his way._

_Isii, Inquisitor_  
 _As daring as she’s brave_  
 _With the mark the Maker gave_  
 _All of Thedas, she will save._

_***_

The performance had caught him off guard. The bard was eager to show off the first verses of her latest contribution to the music of Skyhold. An unfinished work, she proclaimed, but worthy of note. Isii indulged her with a broad smile. At first Solas had merely been irritated to have their conversation interrupted, yet his mood soured as the song went on.

Once free from the bard’s presence, Solas frowned, glancing at Isii. “You asked her to write that for you?”

"No." She replied with a laugh. "Maryden said she wanted to write something new. A surprise. Started asking me all sorts of questions about the Dalish." She tilted her head, peering at him. "Why? Do you not like it?"

He shifted slightly in his seat, his jaw clenched. “It’s fine.” He said tersely. 

Isii grinned. “You’re a terrible liar, vhenan.”

Solas answered with little more than a short hum, calmly bringing his drink to his lips. 


	13. His Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word Prompt: "Solas and Lavellan. Basorexia(Urge to kiss), Cheiloproclitic(attraction to lips), Malapert(Clever speech) Solas has such dreamy lips, especially when he is being all clever and shit. Ohhhh yeahhhh ;D"

It was an understatement to say she was fond of his mouth.

There were the obvious things, of course: the way his lips felt against her skin, the expert qualities of his tongue and all the salacious thoughts that brought to her mind in her more private moments. But even the simpler, less titillating qualities always pleased her eye. The way he’d pinch his lips into a thin line when thinking. The way they would curl back to smirk in anticipation of his wit. The fullness of them when he was asleep, his face relaxed. The way his tongue would wet them when his mind was otherwise occupied. Even when he sneered, she loved the way his lips twisted to show his distain.

Seconded only by kissing, his lips were best when he was talking. They moved in time to his smooth cadence and she found herself staring at them now as he spoke, a long string of Elvish coming off of those beautiful, perfect lips.

He stopped, giving her an expectant look, clearly noticing that she had not been paying attention. “Are you going to repeat it back or not?”

“Sorry,” she said with a grin. “I think I will need you to say that again. Maybe slower?”

He frowned, though she could still see faint traces of amusement. “You’re proving to be a very easily distracted student.” He chided. “Perhaps I overestimated the quality of your focus.”

“I’m quite focused.” She leaned forward, resting her hands on the arms of his chair. His brow shifted – a subtle movement, but one she recognized well by now – shaking his head slightly.

“Focused, perhaps, but not on the lesson.” His head tilted, his chin lifting. “Was your interest in improving your Elvish genuine, or was it merely an excuse to capture my attention?”

Her grin deepened, ears tilting back as she lowered herself, the tip of her nose skimming lightly against the side of his own. Lips brushed, yet neither closed the distance further. “Do I really need an excuse?” She murmured. His lips split into a sly grin and she knew she had him. He leaned up, quickly capturing her mouth with his own, his hand slipping onto the nape of her neck. She could not help but smile against his kiss.

Her trap had been laid perfectly and he fell right into it.

His tongue teased, asking for entrance yet denying her when she allowed it, his teeth dragging against her lower lip. She was so entranced, so engaged, the rest of the world falling away, so distant, that the sound of fluttering paper above her seemed irrelevant until she heard the loud thud. Solas’s teeth sank into her lip in surprise and she yelped, pulling away as the book clattered into his lap. His hand went to his scalp, massaging the spot where the tome struck him. Solas was scowling, seething as he gripped the book, glaring up to the overhang above.

“Get a room!” The familiar voice called out.

Isii ran her tongue over her lip, sore and swelling from the press of his teeth, her jaw clenching as she shared a look with her lover. “Give me a moment.” She said before throwing herself at the stairwell, the echo of Dorian’s laughter circling the rotunda as he fled.


	14. The Wolf Statue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted with the sentence: "The stone of the great wolf statue was warm to her touch."

The stone of the great wolf statue was warm to her touch. The carving of Fen'harel still radiated some of the heat from the day’s sun, feeling almost like living skin under her fingertips. She leaned back against it, letting herself sink to the forest floor, the curve of her back following its side in her descent. Her legs extended, head falling back, eyes closing as she took in the scent of the forest, the quiet murmurings of their camp nearby, the distant howl that called up to the stars above. She let herself surrender to the momentary peace on the outskirts of her home, left to nothing but her thoughts.

“I don’t think laying with the Dread Wolf is the best decision, da'len.”

Isii didn’t bother opening her eyes. She knew the voice of her Keeper well enough. “I’m not afraid,” she muttered, stretching. “Besides, it’s comfy here.” She heard Deshanna close the distance between them but thought little of it until she felt the sharp pinch on her ear, the woman yanking her into sitting upright. Isii yelped as her Keeper shot her a stern chastising look. 

“Do not confuse foolishness for bravery,” Deshanna said firmly. “Prideful boasting will only tempt him to prove you wrong.”

Isii wanted to argue, petulantly pursing her lips, but bit back her words. “Yes, Keeper,” she said sharply, her tone sour despite the capitulation.

“Go sit with the others.” The girl did as she was told, despite her clear displeasure. Isii had always been a willful child. Stubborn. Headstrong. Deshanna hoped she could soothe these traits over time. 

Otherwise, the child was likely to get herself into serious trouble.


	15. The Woman Who Fell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newest addition to the Inquisition picks up on an old hidden hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First-line prompt: "falling is just like flying except with a more permanent destination."

Falling is just like flying except with a more permanent destination. He could feel the echo of it. The way her limbs had flailed against the air. Fighting. Twisting. Struggle for purchase and nothing but fast breaths, fast heartbeats, the sudden knowledge that there is nothing more to be done, that the ending is inevitable, like a book with the final page ripped out. She thinks of the other woman and her heart grows warm and cold all at once. She had loved her. More than anything. A brief moment of peace, then. Acceptance. In that fleeting second she is flying. By the time she hits the ground, there is nothing more to worry about. She is gone before the pain can reach her.

“You still with us?”

Cole glanced up, his eyes wide. “Sorry?”

“You seem rather distracted,” the elf woman said. Thoughts flowed from her like a steady stream.  _He is new. Strange. Don’t know what to make of him. But he helped. That’s what matters._

“The woman. She hadn’t wanted to, but she soared. The other one never knew why. She thought she’d jumped. _”_

The elf woman’s brow arched warily. “Uh huh,” she said. _Certainly creepy. Possibly harmless? Will have to ask Solas more about spirits._ “You, uh. You keep doing whatever it is… you’re… doing.”

He grinned brightly. “Thank you.”


	16. A Disruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is distracted by a thoughtless mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first-line prompt (though in this case, the first two lines were offered)

The quill seemed to glide across the page - funny, it was always easier to write when there were other matters to attend. A hasty knock on the door, then the sound of metal bouncing off metal.

“Come in,” Cullen muttered, not looking up as his hand increased its pace. His penmanship would suffer for the rush, but he wanted to complete this thought before the inevitable interruption. The door did not open, however. There was a struggle, something awkwardly scuffing against the wood. He heard the clamor of metal-on-metal once more, yet what began as a single ringing _clack_ soon multiplied, scattering, resonating into an avalanche of scraping and thudding and the sound of a loud, panicked curse. 

The Commander frowned, leaving his desk to see what the source of the commotion was. Throwing open the door sent three shields and a helmet spilling down onto the stone at his feet. In front of him, Jim knelt among a sea of now-dented armor and shielding, frantically clutching an armload of chainmail, looking up at him like a nug facing down a wolf. 

“I can explain everything.” He said timidly.

Cullen stared at him for a long, silent moment before simply closing the door, pressing his fist against it as he sighed.


	17. Flower Crowns [pt 2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole finds a good home for the flower crowns Isii makes.
> 
>  
> 
> _A call-back to[Chapter 9: Hobbies](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3073325/chapters/6677102)._

She thinks no one notices, but he does. He notices a lot of things. He didn’t smell the scent of flowers on her hands so much as he could feel the meadow from which they came and the young lovers who once called that their special place. An elf and a human. They were happy there, for a time, and the flowers remembered.

Cole slipped away from camp while they slept. Unnoticed, as always, like a ghost or passing thought. As his fingers curled around the flowered crown, he could sense the lingering remnants of her feelings as she made it. _Mamae taught me to wind these. “My little elven queen”. Fighting invisible shems with small loose fists, daydreams pantomimed, taking back the home land. Home. Family. Permanent. They can’t take this from me. Play-acting a triumphant rebel monarch. Flowers falling. Sticking to hair. Mamae was never mad. She would make me a replacement in time._

Both happy and sad. A hurt he’d tried to touch before, but it only made the hurt worse. Cole clutched the circlet and wandered back into camp, past the unseeing eyes of the night watch. There was someone who would appreciate this, even if she didn’t know who it was from. It would remind her of the man with the hard face and the soft voice. The one who liked to dance. She had known what they had would never last, but it was nice to feel wanted. Cole set the circlet into place without a word as she slept, wandering off to pass the time before his friends awoke.

Lace Harding didn’t know where these things were coming from. They seemed to arrive with no rhyme or reason, tucked inside her tent, just beyond the entry. They were not frequent enough for her to see a  pattern in their arrival, yet happened often enough for her to know they were intentional. She didn’t know if they were a romantic gesture or simply intended as a kindness, but they made her smile nonetheless.

It felt good to know someone cared.


	18. Did You Learn That In The Fade?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A NSFW Solavellan drabble.

He liked it best when she laughed during their lovemaking. There was something freeing in that breathy sound; something warm and comfortable and lacking in self-consciousness. She was giggling to herself, still catching her breath as he settled beside her. 

His arm went to her side, drawing her closer. “What has you so amused?”

Isii arched an eyebrow, glancing at him through eyelids weighed-down with satisfaction. “That was a neat trick,” she teased, smirking. “Did you learn that in the Fade?”

He chuckled, pressing his lips to her shoulder. “No.” He slowly traced his fingers along the curve of her hip, easing down until his nails dragged lightly along her inner thigh. “Some skills do require hands-on practice to achieve the desired effect.” 

She shuddered through another laugh, cupping his jaw with her hand and pulling him forward to meet her lips. “Well then,” she said between kisses. “I’m very glad that you’ve had plenty of practice.”

He hummed against her mouth before nudging her jaw aside, kissing her throat. “Though I suppose it would not hurt to take the time to perfect my technique.” His lips trailed along her collarbone as he drew her leg up against his side. “It has been a long time since I’ve had the opportunity to use it.”

“Again? Already?” He answered with the drag of his teeth against the top of her breast and she laughed brightly. Her smile widened, even as she rolled her eyes, sighing playfully. “Oh, well. If you insist. I suppose I can let you practice some more.”


	19. Prayers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First-line prompt. 
> 
> Isii's attempts to pray after having lost her faith. Set post-Inquisition, pre-Trespasser.

Prayers had lost their flavor now, only leaving a feeling of emptiness. Isii kept her eyes closed, still kneeling before the crumbling remains of the altar, but she was no longer calling for Dirthamen’s enlightenment. It felt pointless. Hollow.

She couldn’t bring herself to believe in any of it anymore.

To her rational mind, it made little sense. Should her faith not be stronger now than ever before? She had met Mythal in the flesh - or within the form of a shem host, at least. And she knew that the visions she saw of the Dread Wolf in her dreams were too frequent to be written off as merely the fevered imaginings of distressed sleep. The gods had to be real.

But her recent experiences were so outside of what she’d expected, so against what her faith had lead her to believe. Mythal had been murdered. Fen’harel wasn’t her betrayer, but stood honored in her temple. The stories Solas told her of the gods: the cruelty of Andruil, the vanity of Falon’din, the tyrannical rule of Elgar’nan. She had taken them as merely stories, once. Things he said that conflicted with but did not shake her beliefs. Now, she couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t be sure of anything. Praying felt like she was forcing a lie to pass her lips. How could she expect a response when her supplications were laced with so many doubts?

She didn’t move when she heard the familiar footsteps approach, boots scraping roughly against the aged stone floor. “The others are getting a bit antsy to go, dear,” Dorian said. Though he kept his usual casual tone, she could sense a small hint of trepidation there. He didn’t want to disrupt her. Everyone had been treating her rather delicately, recently. He crouched down at her side, a gentle hand moving to her shoulder when she didn’t respond. “Are you alright, little wisp?”

Her eyes remained fixed on the ground, her brow tightening. “I’m really not.”

“Didn’t find the answers you were looking for, then?” She shook her head. She could hear the sympathy in the small sigh that escaped him. She knew he wanted to help her, but there was little he could do. There was little anyone could do, short of finding Solas. She wanted some sense of closure and none of the people left in her life could give that to her.

This was something she had to work through herself. 


	20. The Best I Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole and Isii talk after the events of Trespasser.
> 
> The first bit was sent in by an anon speaking as Cole - the rest was my reply.

"Deep dark hurt down inside, wrung and tied in knots. No shaking can get it loose. She feels the magic of the world around her, prickling on her skin. She raises her marked arm, but it is sundered. Yet not out of hate, but out of love. 'Solas, ar lath vir suledin,' a desperate plea to a lover gone astray. Now to try to save him from his hurt."

Isii kept her eyes forward, trying to halt the stinging in her eyes as she steadied her voice. “Do you really think I can, Cole?”

“He hurts himself to clear the trap because he can’t see another way. He wants to be wrong. If anyone can show him, it’s you.”

She took a slow breath, letting her hand slip into his own, giving it a sharp squeeze. “I’ll do the best I can,” she whispered. “Hopefully, it’s enough.”


End file.
